


Tips

by asexualshepard



Series: Broken Scopes [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Backstory, I GENUINELY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO TAG THIS AS, M/M, Military Backstory, Pre-Relationship, Sarcasm, Snipers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:19:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualshepard/pseuds/asexualshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"MacCready was a damn—ah, a really good shot, and he knew it. No other way he would’ve been able to get so many caps out of the suckers who hired him. So, when some vault dweller—who, funny thing, was stuck in a freezer for two-hundred years—starts telling him to fix his posture, he doesn’t take it with grace. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tips

MacCready was a damn—ah, a really good shot, and he knew it. No other way he would’ve been able to get so many caps out of the suckers who hired him. So, when some vault dweller—who, funny thing, was stuck in a freezer for two-hundred years—starts telling him to fix his posture, he doesn’t take it with grace.

“Your shoulders should be back, not hunched forwards.”

There’s no malice in the words, but they still rub MacCready twelve different ways, all of them wrong.

“I know how to hold my gun, thanks,” he mutters.

The vault dweller—Ethan, MacCready thinks he was called—shrugs and continues walking, shifting his shotgun in his hands. “Alright, but don’t come to me when your rotator-cuff gives out.”

MacCready mimics him under his breath as he follows, tone as irritated as he can muster and quiet enough so Ethan doesn’t hear.

Three days later, MacCready finds his shoulders pulled back instead of hunched, and he briefly considers shooting Ethan in the back before defiantly setting his shoulders the way he always does. He doesn’t shoot his employer—that would be bad for his sparkling reputation as a mercenary. But, if he does let a few raiders get closer to Ethan than normal—well, that’s simply because of the bad nest he was told to stay in.

 

* * *

 

 

In the following week, Ethan gives him ten more “helpful tips,” and MacCready doesn’t listen to any of them. Chin should be against his chest? MacCready holds it up, and shoots just fine. Reloads would be faster if he didn’t move his left hand from the forestock? He keeps his hand there and goes extra slow. If Ethan notices that MacCready is going against everything he says, he doesn’t point it out, and he doesn’t stop giving unwanted advice.

Still, the guy grows on MacCready a bit. He may always do the right thing, and he may always pick up every fuck—every piece of junk in sight, but he’s good with a gun, and he’s got an alright sense of humor when they’re not arguing. MacCready still doesn’t trust him enough to let his guard down, but at least he’s not still waiting for work in Goodneighbor.

So, yeah, MacCready may be keeping his eyes on his own back, but he can’t deny that they work pretty well together. He finds a high spot with a good view and Ethan acts as a distraction—keeping whatever it is they’re fighting off MacCready’s back. They manage to make it out of most fights with nothing more than a few scratches and bumps (unexpected ambushes are another story, but no one’s perfect).

Still, mistakes happen, and MacCready stumbles into a big one. Why he thought using a car for cover was a good idea, he’ll never know. Maybe he thought the raiders wouldn’t figure out his location. Maybe he figured he and Ethan could kill everyone before they could get a shot off. No matter his reasoning, he still hid there, and the Molotov still came.

Actually, the Molotov itself isn’t that bad. MacCready is fast, and Ethan shouting his name gives him enough warning to avoid lighting his duster on fire. It’s the fucki— _the stupid_ car that gets him. It just _has_ to explode.

And that’s how MacCready finds himself lying face down on the concrete of a four-lane freeway, his arms thrown over his head in a last-ditch attempt to shield himself. He feels the smaller bits of shrapnel bite into his back, but whatever pain they cause past that pales in comparison to the shattering scream that comes from his knee. If his face hadn’t been shielded—if he’d been watching—he would have seen a hub cap slam into it, but instead he just _feels_ it.

Then his arm is being pulled around broad shoulders. He bites the side of his cheek as weight settles on his knee—they’re still in a firefight, and screaming would definitely alert the raiders of their location—but it doesn’t last long. Before he can recognize what’s going on, Ethan drags him away from the burning carcass of the car and settles him behind a pile of rubble.

“How bad is it?”

MacCready can barely hear the words through the ringing in his ears, but he does hear them, and damn if he isn’t gonna be as sarcastic as he can when his mouth decides to start working again.

He presses his fingers to his kneecap. It’s warm, wet. Not good signs, and the fact that his knee is pretty much fuck—augh, _pretty messed up_ is apparent by the way it shouts at him when he barely brushes his fingers over it. Pressing his palm over the wound is agony, but he’d rather put up with that than bleed out, so he bites his tongue and pushes.

“Mac, how bad is it?”

Ethan’s voice is clearer this time, pushing past the cotton in MacCready’s ears.

“Well, it’s not good, genius,” MacCready growls, his tone fluctuating rapidly as he fights back tears.

There’s a moment—MacCready almost thinks he hears a frustrated sigh—and then Ethan is muttering, “Just—stay here, okay?”

And MacCready can’t stop the wry, broken laughter that breaks from behind his teeth. Like he could go anywhere.

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Then he’s alone, hands shaking, one trying to stem the bleeding and the other wrapped tightly around the forestock of his rifle. He’s been in pain before, but this—yeah, this takes the cake. His leg feels like it’s on fire, and his stomach is threatening to empty itself down the front of his duster. But he takes slow breaths. Closes his eyes tight. He can hear gunfire, and for the first time he’s praying that the damn vault dweller manages to drop the rest of the raiders without any complications.

Of course, neither of them is that lucky, and soon Ethan is back in front of him despite guns still firing from the other end of the freeway.

“Give me your rifle.”

“What? No!”

“Either you give me your rifle, or raiders pry it from your cold, dead fingers.” The words are a snarl, rippling from beneath Ethan’s tongue.

A moment passes, and then MacCready reluctantly hands over his gun. He watches as Ethan snatches it from his grasp and settles himself at the edge of the rubble pile they’re hiding behind. Naturally, all of the dumb tips he’d given MacCready throughout the week show—chin tucked downwards, shoulders back, head tilted at a more drastic angle than MacCready normally uses.

Frankly, MacCready is a bit surprised. He’d figured Ethan for a guy who’d never touched a sniper rifle in his life, but had read a book or two and thought that served as field experience. But it’s obvious that’s not the case when Ethan takes a deep breath and fires four shots in quick succession, dropping the last few raiders in a matter of seconds.

When Ethan’s hands shake as he hands the rifle back, MacCready gets a feeling something isn’t quite right.

When Ethan drops onto the cement beside him—legs shaking just as violently as his hands and breaths heaving in a way MacCready has never seen from him before—he _knows_ something isn’t quite right.

And when they don’t move for a long time, MacCready decides he needs to make sure this—whatever it is—never happens again.

 

* * *

 

 

MacCready doesn’t get an explanation for a long time. As much as he wants one, he doesn’t ask, because Ethan allowed him his boundaries and he should at least have the decency to do the same. Still, it happens again. Twice, actually. And MacCready’s not an idiot—he catches the constant.

Sniper rifles.

So, he does his best to keep Ethan away from them. And it works, for the most part—if MacCready works that extra bit harder, focuses that tiny bit more, he can keep Ethan almost completely out of harm’s way. Especially when he swallows whatever pride he has left and puts Ethan’s tips into practice.

Ethan brings it up one day—the tips. They’re camped  in a two-story building on the outskirts of some town they just happened to be passing by, hiding beneath the one part of the ceiling that hasn’t yet collapsed in order to avoid the rain that had started slowly but quickly turned to a storm. MacCready takes the chance to give his rifle a proper cleaning—his baby’s been deprived of attention since they started traveling together. Ethan, on the other hand, simply props himself against the wall and watches.

“You know,” he starts, “you were a good shot _before_ you started listening to me. Now that you’re actually doing it right…”

The grin that slips onto MacCready’s face is almost too easy. “You’re impressed, are you?”

“Actually… yeah.”

When MacCready looks up from the gun parts in his hands, he finds Ethan’s gaze turned to the puddles on the adjacent road and his fingers scratching at the back of his neck.

For a moment, MacCready’s not sure how to respond. He’s not used to compliments. Yeah, sometimes someone will tell him he has a good eye, but it’s never been someone he—dare he say it— _respects_. And that makes all the difference.

“I’m completely self-taught, you know.”

Ethan’s bark of laughter is a surprise, but a nice one. Guy could use more laughter.

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” he grins, his arms folding across his chest as his attention comes back to MacCready.

He elects to ignore Ethan’s smart comment, and instead drops his eyes to focus on his rifle once more, running a cloth over various disassembled parts. “Picked up a sniper rifle when I was ten and never looked back.”

The conversation continues at an easy pace. MacCready explains Little Lamplight, how he got involved with the Gunners, and Ethan listens intently through the whole thing. Not that he doesn’t offer input every now and then. He does, and MacCready likes it—makes him feel like someone’s actually listening to him.

When the inevitable awkward lull comes, he makes a decision, and throws his caution to the wind.

“Look,” he begins, his stomach twisting, “I know I tend to be a pain in the a—I mean, I know I tend to be arrogant and I come off like I want to be alone—but nothing could be further from the truth.”

He has to pause to swallow the lump building behind his Adam’s apple.

“Being alone scares the heck outta me. And now that we’ve been traveling together for a while, I’m beginning to realize how much I missed having someone I could depend on. I just—wanted you to know that I’m going to do everything I can to see that it stays this way.”

He knows his cheeks are red, and he knows that Ethan’s watching him, so he busies his hand with his rifle once more. Honestly, he’s not sure how he expects Ethan to respond, but how he does is _definitely_ not it.

“I told you I was in the military, right? Before the War, I mean.”

“I, uh, yeah,” MacCready mumbles, confusion creasing his brow. “You might have mentioned it.”

Ethan isn’t looking at him any longer; his gaze has returned to the puddles, considerably larger now. His lips purse as he watches the water ripple, and MacCready begins to wonder if he’s going to elaborate as several moments pass.

“Joined up the second I was old enough,” he continues finally. “Parents weren’t too happy with me, but I wanted to keep people safe. What better way to do that than with the military, right?”

MacCready doesn’t answer. He figures Ethan doesn’t want him to.

“A year in I get called to talk to some specialist. The higher-ups wanted to give me some special training—said it matched up with my marksmanship scores and psych evaluations, or something. And I was a kid who liked praise, so I got the minimal amount of information and signed the paperwork and they shipped me off to some specialized facility.

“When I get there, nine other guys are waiting for me. Not sure what the endgame was, but the military wanted specially designed units to handle sensitive missions, so they assembled squads of ten with each member having a specialization. I was the sniper. Spent the next two years learning how to get it right. I ate, slept, and socialized with my squad, so of course we all got to know each other pretty well. Strength in camaraderie, y’know.

“Finally, we get an assignment. Honestly, I can’t remember what the goal was, all I know is that I was supposed to sit in a very specific location and make sure no one snuck up on my guys.”

MacCready knows exactly what’s coming—can see it in Ethan’s eyes. His arms are no longer folded over his chest, hands having moved to his lap at some point in his story, and MacCready notes the way they’re tightly clasped together, knuckles white.

“Too bad land mines are hard to spot when you’re a hundred meters away.”

MacCready hesitates for a moment. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and fu—mess it up.

“And that’s why you get all—shaky around sniper rifles.”

Ethan nods, his hands separating so he can press the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Yeah.”

MacCready thinks that will be the end. He doesn’t expect Ethan to say anything more—obviously reliving those moments in which he lost an entire group of people he’d cared about. But he does.

“Me and one other guy were the only ones to make it out,” he says, his breaths slow and controlled, but labored. “But we didn’t get out together. I was on my own in enemy territory for three days, waiting for extraction. I’ve been through some shit, but—fuck—nothing’s going to top that.

“So when you say being alone is scary…” Ethan’s exhale is shuddered and broken as his eyes find MacCready’s. “Yeah. I get that.”

And, this time, nothing more is said, but MacCready feels the wind begin to shift.

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a rewrite/POV-switch/retelling of a different thing I wrote about the incident with the car. I'm not sure if I'll post the original because it's not great and I was still trying to figure out how to write Fallout, but we'll see. 
> 
> Also, sorry if there's any weird tense-switching. I've been writing in past tense for the last year, so it kind of comes as habit to do that, even if I'm trying to write in present tense. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it at least a little! :)


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